


The Old Man of the Forest

by Beings_Of_Stardust_Are_We



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Arthurian Legends Exist, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Cryptid Merlin, Dragons, Folklore, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Happy Ending, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Lake Avalon, Light Angst, Local Legend Merlin, M/M, Merlin Lives in a Cottage, Merlin is a Fairytale, Merlin's Just Vibing Out In The Forest With Some Baby Dragons, Merlin-centric (Merlin), Old Merlin (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), POV Outsider, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Sad Merlin (Merlin), Waiting By Lake Avalon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beings_Of_Stardust_Are_We/pseuds/Beings_Of_Stardust_Are_We
Summary: Tabitha (Tab) Basker only has a few fears.1) Losing her brother Michel, the only family she has left2) The Man of the Forest, a powerful (and quite possibly malevolent) sorcerer3) SpidersWhen Michel falls fatally ill, Tab realizes that Fear #1 takes precedence over Fear #2.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Michel Basker, Merlin & Tabitha Basker, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> No clue what time period this is, but I find I don't care.
> 
> This is based 50% off of a dialogue prompt and 50% off of some random paragraphs that I scribbled down on my Calc homework a while back.
> 
> Enjoy!

He was the oldest story in the village. 

He was every child’s first fairytale, everyone’s favorite story around the fire late at night. He was a mother’s warning about wandering into the woods and a grandmother’s story of lost love. He was an easy coin for a traveling bard and a necessary piece of advice for a passing traveller. 

He was the old man of the forest.

Specifics differed. Some said that he was the victim of a curse, others that he was an old god left behind by a lost religion. Mothers of adventurous children claimed that he was an evil wizard who would gobble up anyone who ventured into the woods alone. Romantics had decided long ago that he was a spirit, chained to the earth, seeking his lost love.

Old Lady Agatha said that he was a benevolent old enchanter who would grant wishes in exchange for a new garment or a basket of food, and most believed her. After all, she was the oldest in the village and therefore the most knowledgeable. 

To Tabitha Basker, he was her last hope.

At her side, Michel’s whole body shook as he let out another wracking cough. Small flecks of blood further stained the rust coloured fabric of his sleeve as he wiped it across his mouth. Tab strengthened her arm around him and kept walking. 

Michel had never been the healthiest child, but that year’s winter had brought a horrible cough and a progressive weakening of his entire body. When she had finally scraped together the money to go see him, the village doctor told her that Michel wouldn’t last the spring. He was too young and too sickly to fight off the disease. 

She had left the doctor’s quarters and headed to the market, using the last of her money to buy a blue cloak lined in rabbit’s fur. 

If the doctor couldn’t help Michel, maybe the Old Man of the Forest could. 

And so, here she was, walking with her little brother through the woods, a handmade wicker basket full of food over her arm, cloak folded at the bottom of it. (Old Lady Agatha had said that either would please him, but Tab wasn’t taking any chances.)

The hardest part of her preparations for their journey hadn’t been the food or cloak, though; it had been getting directions. Most people in the village considered it bad luck to talk about the lake’s locations, so it had taken a friendly south bound traveller to send her on the path. The lake was almost directly to the north of them, about three hours’ walk away. According to him, they would know that they were getting close when the trees became huge, ancient yews and the air began to sing with a strange power.

Tab and Michel had been walking for almost half of the day, but the dusk air was as silent as a crypt. Michel, nowhere near strong enough for the six hours of walking they had just undergone, was now nearly limp in her arms. Between her brother and the basket, Tab was soon to keel over herself. 

She was beginning to plan their stop for the night when she felt it. 

The air was singing.    
  


There was no tune and no instrument, no noise at all. The music in the air was playing in her soul. 

Her feet forgot their pain. Her tired body felt fresh, and Michel broke away from her to stand with a new strength. She gripped the basket with a new enthusiasm, and they continued their trek through a forest that was gradually transitioning to a grove of yew trees. A light flickered through the forest ahead of them.

Tab wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when it came to the dwelling of the Old Man of the Forest. A dilapidated church, perhaps, or a mansion of dark stone with ghosts within its walls.

She certainly hadn’t been expecting the cottage that appeared before them. 

It was made of stone with a thatched roof, and ivy climbed a trellis on one of its walls. In the fading light of the day, Tab could make out a magnificent garden wrapped around the front, sides, and presumably the back of the house. Friendly fire light flickered in the circular windows of the house, and smoke wafted in picturesque curls from the chimney. 

The only indication that something supernatural lived inside the idyllic cottage was the line of blue balls of light that appeared in front of them, lighting their path as they walked towards it. Michel carefully poked one and laughed.

“They tickle, Tab! Touch one!” 

She did as he suggested and found herself giggling along with him as tingles emanated across her hand from the inexplicably cool floating fire. They walked along the evenly paved stone path up to the cottage together, trailing their fingers through the lights guiding their steps.

When they reached the forest green door, Tab hesitated. What if this was all a trick? What if it was a trap to catch them off guard before the evil inhabitant snatched them up and ate them? What if Old Lady Agatha was wrong, and he would take their gifts but refuse to cure Michel?

Sensing her nervousness, Michel reached around her.

Her heart stopped, and she grabbed for his hand. “Michel, no!”

She was too late. His small fist had already rapped against the door.

  
  


The door swung open almost immediately, and Tab stared, terrified, at the man who had opened it. 

He was tall, with a long white beard and even longer white hair. Between that, his red robes, and the half moon spectacles that rested on the bridge of his nose, he looked every bit an old wizard. As he took them in, his eyes brightened, and his mouth curled into a large smile.

“Hello, what might your names be?” His voice was scratchy, like he hardly used it. Tab was reminded of a wooden swing creaking in the breeze.

Neither of them was able to answer before he smacked a wrinkled hand onto his forehead.

“Oh dear, where have my manners gone? Please, come in, I’ll put a kettle on! It’s been so long since I’ve had guests!” He ushered them inside excitedly, asking about tea preferences. 

The cottage was just as perfect inside as it was outside. The fire that she had noticed before was crackling in the fireplace, surrounded by a squashy couch and two armchairs. A wooden table was set against the wall opposite the fireplace, laden with supplies for what seemed like potion making, if the large collection of bottles of coloured liquid in the cabinet next to it was any indication. The wall in front of them was entirely lined with bookshelves, except for another circular window that looked over the lake. Behind them, paintings covered the entire wall. Drying herbs hung from the ceiling, and the faint aroma of apples and spices hung in the perfectly warm air. Tab took a moment to wonder where the Old Man slept; he was far too old and tall to sleep comfortably on the couch. 

“-Or we could have cheese and bread; I’ve got a lovely aged cheddar… Have you two even eaten dinner yet? Here, take a seat and rest. You’ve had such a long journey.” He ushered them over to the couch, and once they were settled next to each other, the man moved over to the potion table and casually waved a hand. 

Tab and Michel gaped as the table and cabinet disappeared, only to be replaced with a small pantry. The old man grabbed a few things before walking back over to them, where a large pot had suddenly appeared above the fire. (She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed before- the fire burned without wood.)

“I’ve started some stew for us, but I’ve got some bread and cheese here to tide you over. Oh, and I promised you tea!” It was only exhaustion that kept Tab from jumping two feet in the air when a small table with a full tea service on it appeared in front of them. 

The Old Man of the Forest placed the snacks he had grabbed from the cupboard on a convenient plate on the table before settling down in the armchair across from them. 

“Now,” he said, folding his hands in his lap, “What can I do for you two?”

Michel spoke with the unabashed excitement that only a six year old could manage. “I’m Michel, and this is my big sister Tab, but I call her Tab and you can too! I’m sick and the doctor said that I would die, but Tab said that that would happen over her dead body, and Old Lady Agatha said that you could help me. Tom and Molly and Harriet said that you were evil and you’d eat us, but you don’t  _ look _ like you’re planning on eating us. Do you want to eat us?”

The old man smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid that I have no interest in eating such friendly children. It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Tab and Michel. My name is Dragoon.”

Michel giggled at the name, and Tab jabbed him in the ribs. 

Dragoon smiled at the two of them. “No trouble in laughing; it’s a very funny name.” His expression shifted to a frown then, and he floated a cup of tea over to himself. “What can you tell me about Michel’s illness? I would love to help, but I need every detail you can give me.” 

Tab reached under the couch for the basket. “Thank you, Dragoon. I have a cloak and food for you as-”

He cut her off with a laugh in his voice. “Is that what people say these days? I don’t need payment, Tab; I’m glad to help you. Human interaction is a reward in and of itself.”

Tab didn’t understand; Dragoon was probably powerful enough to pick up his whole house and put it somewhere else. There was no need for him to stay in the middle of nowhere. “If you’re lonely, why don’t you leave?” 

His gaze was wistful as he looked to the window that watched the lake. “I’m afraid that isn’t an option for me.”

The topic obviously upset him, so Tab returned to the previous line of conversation. “Michel got sick during the winter. He spends most of his time in bed and feels tired all the time. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, his body’s gotten progressively weaker, and he has a terrible cough. He started coughing up blood a few weeks ago. The doctor said he won’t see summer.”

Dragoon looked pensive for a moment. Then, as if struck by a sudden inspiration, he jolted up from his chair and bustled over to the other side of the room, which sported the potion table again. “I remember seeing this in Cam- my hometown, many years ago. The potion will have to simmer overnight, but it will be ready by morning tomorrow. While I’m preparing it, have some stew.” At his words, a pair of bowls replaced the tea service, and a ladle appeared in the pot that was now floating a safe distance away from the fire.

Tab could have hugged the old man, but since he was already hard at work, she steadied herself and ladled out portions of steaming stew for herself and her brother. Michel accepted his bowl and began to eat with a gusto that she hadn’t seen in months. If she hadn’t believed that Dragoon was magical already, she certainly did now.

The stew was rich and filling, and it warmed her down to the bone. The sounds of Dragoon working on the potion and the crackling of the fire began to fade as she sank further into the soft couch, allowing exhaustion to take her over.

  
  


“Let’s have you, lazy daisy!” Dragoon’s voice cut through Tab’s dream like a hot knife through butter. She groaned and almost buried her face in the pillow again, but her nose demanded that she first locate the sweet smell nearby. 

She sat up and took in her surroundings. 

She and Michel, who was now blinking and trying to sit up, had been nestled together on the criminally soft bed that had once been the couch. Her boots were on the floor next to her, and Dragoon was in the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Tab!” For an old man, he was far too happy for the morning. “I’ve made pancakes, and there’s berry preserves and honey for them on the table. If you want tea, I’ve got that, but I also have some fresh apple juice if you’d prefer.” 

Tab smiled and made her way to the dining table that was now in the middle of the room. “Apple juice would be lovely, Dragoon.”

At her words, a pitcher of amber liquid appeared on the table, along with two cups. Michel padded across the room after her, rubbing his eyes.

A plate stacked high with perfectly made pancakes floated over to them and sat itself down next to the preserves. Two plates appeared next to it, and the cakes divided themselves evenly among the three. Tab watched in amazement as Dragoon walked over to the table, floating another stack of pancakes out of an open window as he did so.

Michel’s question came the moment the man sat down. “Why’d ya do that?”

Dragoon took a dollop of the preserves and spread it across one of his pancakes before answering. “I have to feed my pets. They’re indoor/outdoor normally, but they don’t like guests too much so I keep them outside. It hardly hurts their feelings; I get visitors once a year at best.”

“What are they? Unicorns? Dragons? Manticores? Sea serpents in big tanks-” 

“Calm down, Michel,” Tab cut in, shaking her head. “He’s always been fascinated with fantasy creatures, Dragoon; never mind him.”

“Well,” said the old man, “Fantasy creatures or not, I think that they might actually like you. My friends haven’t met many children before.” 

Michel bounced excitedly in his seat, but his sickness saw fit to remind everyone at the table of why they were there. A hacking cough traveled down the length of Michel’s spine, and when he looked up again, his lips were stained with red. Dragoon shot up from his seat and made his way over to the fire, where a crystalline pot full of a bubbling blue liquid hovered over the fire. He waved his hand, and words in a foreign script appeared. The old man must have been satisfied by what they conveyed because, using a kitchen glove, he removed the crystal cauldron off of the fire and brought it over to his potions table.

Potion now cooling on the table, Dragoon returned to his pancakes. 

“Where did you get the preserves, Dragoon?” Tab asked, not wanting anyone to dwell on Michel’s soon-to-be-cured illness. 

His eyes twinkled. “I made them- grew the berries in my garden and mashed them into preserves. The honey came from some friendly bees a few minutes away from here. I like to make things by hand when I can, keeps me busy.”

She glanced around the room for a bit more conversation, eyes eventually alighting on the wall of paintings. Some of them were different views of a castle, but most were of people. A fiercely beautiful woman in a green dress hung near the wall next to an olive skinned man in chainmail and a roguish looking man with dark hair that skimmed his shoulders. An angelic woman with flowers woven into her curly hair was smiling softly near the door, breathtaking in a lavender dress. The largest was of another man in chainmail, blonde and broad shouldered, whose gloved hands rested on a gold-pommelled sword. His blue eyes regarded the viewer with regal disinterest that perfectly matched the gold crown on his head. He looked familiar, but Tab couldn’t determine from where.

“Who are your paintings of?”

She knew it was the wrong question from the moment it left her mouth. Dragoon’s eyes were suddenly mournful, and he looked at the wall as if he’d just remembered that it was there. His answer was simple and sad.

“Friends.”

  
  


The potion cooled quickly, and Michel was soon dancing around the room. 

“Tab! Tab! I feel so strong! I could lift a  _ mountain _ !”

Dragoon looked on happily as Michel ran around, bouncing off the walls. Tab stood beside him, watching fondly.    
  


“Thank you, Dragoon- this means a lot to both of us.”

The old man reached over and ruffled her hair. “It was no trouble, Tab. I’m always glad to have someone around.”

“We’ll come visit, if that’s alright with you.” 

Her offer was heartily accepted, and after he had finished preparing them some extra food for the road, the siblings were standing with him outside of the cottage.

“Now, I’ve put an enchantment on your basket to make it lighter, and I’ve spelled your boots against blisters.” Dragoon handed her the container with a smile. “Your clothes should be more responsive to temperature, too; they’ll change themselves to better fit the weather.”

Tab reached inside the basket and pulled out the cloak from the bottom. Dragoon held up his hands, trying to protest, but she pushed it towards him. 

“If you won’t take it as payment, consider it a gift,” she said. “You’ve given us so much; we should be able to give you something in return.”

He wrapped the fabric around his shoulders and grinned at the feeling of the fur against his skin. “Thank you, Tab. You both feel free to visit at any time, understand?”

A pair of enthusiastic yeses followed, and the old man waved to them as they set off on the path home. 


	2. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't complain about the rather excessive magic use in the first chapter; that's just how it be sometimes.

Tab loved the library. It was quiet, dark, and happy to serve as a cool refuge from the summer’s heat.

And of course, there were the books.

For such a small village, they had a rather accomplished library. It had been built a few decades before, on the foundations of an old church. Some people had complained about building a library on holy ground, but the large amount of religious books had satisfied most complaints. 

Tab’s favorite books were stored in the lonely northeast corner of the library, conveniently near an old armchair that nobody (apart from her) seemed to use. She happily selected her favorite of the set from the shelf (not just a fantastic story- the illustrations were second to none) and plopped into the armchair, opening it on her lap.  _ An Illustrated Recording of the Legend of King Arthur _ was the crown jewel in the library’s small mythology department. 

She was preparing herself for another dive into the yellowing pages of the book when something clicked in her brain. She closed the cover again. 

The blonde man in Dragoon’s painting sat proudly on his throne with his wife Guinevere, a spitting image of the curly haired angel, beside him. Tab blinked at them a few times.

This couldn’t be… 

She flipped to the page with an illustration of the Knights of the Round Table, and there they were. Every person she had seen on Dragoon’s wall was there in some shape or form. When she turned the page, the fierce woman in the green dress was there, glaring out of the page with hair tangled and eyes mad. 

Dragoon had painted every person from Arthurian legend- save one. 

Where was Merlin?

She flipped back to the picture of the Round Table and gasped.

Sitting there, at the right hand of the king, was Dragoon.

  
  


Merlin had just finished feeding his dragons when he heard a knock at the front door. Telepathically informing them to make themselves scarce for a little while, he walked over to it, wiping his hands clean of blood. (Despite their attempts to only be fed sweets, dragons, especially babies, needed to eat meat too.) The peephole revealed Tab, surprisingly unaccompanied. A bolt of worry struck, and he opened the door quickly.

“Is Michel alright?” he asked. What if something had gone wrong with the potion? Was Michel sick again? Was he dead?

Tab nodded, and the tension flew from him. “Thank heavens. When I saw that he wasn’t with you, I was quite worried. I thought the potion had failed. Now come in, would you like some tea? I also have some cold apple juice too, if you’d prefer that.”

She followed him mutely into the house, and worry surged again. She didn’t look sad, per se- confused or surprised seemed a better guess. Merlin tamped it down again and summoned up two cups of nicely chilled juice. 

Tab fell onto one of the armchairs and sat there for a moment, staring at him. He resisted the urge to fidget. When she finally spoke, it was only centuries of practice that kept the juice from falling to the ground.

“You knew King Arthur, didn’t you?”

Instead of answering, he waved a hand and opened the door to the garden. (He usually opened doors manually, but this one only came into existence when he needed it. It was a bookshelf the rest of the time.)

“Come on,” he said, “It’s too fine of a day to stay inside.”

  
  


Dragoon- Merlin’s garden was beautiful. Flowers like those Tab had never seen before flourished, framed by every herb known to man. Vegetables of every kind spilled from other beds, and Merlin proudly identified the fruit trees that “provide me with enough apples to feed an army, or even my friend Gwaine”. They made their way down to the lake, where Merlin led her to a marble bench that looked like it had been there for centuries. His bones sounded like an old tree creaking in the wind as he sat down. She perched next to him, pulling out  _ An Illustrated Recording of the Legend of King Arthur _ as she did.

“I found a picture of you. In this book. You’re sitting next to King Arthur at the Round Table.”

Merlin chuckled. “That’s one of the most accurate versions out there, but it still gets some things wrong. I never had a seat at the Round Table when Arthur was king; I stood behind him, as servants were wont to do.”

“But you knew him? Personally?”

“I knew all of them,” he murmured. “At least, I thought I did. Once. A long time ago.”

“What were they like?”

Some crumpled copy of a smile crossed his face. “They were going to change the world.”

He looked out over the lake, clearly lost in thought. Tab took a moment to process the fact that this was happening, that she was here, and that the friendly Old Man of the Forest was actually the greatest sorcerer of all time.

“What else do the legends get wrong?”

Merlin smiled at that. “Where to begin… 

“Arthur was a prat. For the first while that I knew him, I thought that he was an arrogant arse who thought of no one but himself. Over time, I found out that I was wrong about the second half. He was an arrogant arse, that was for sure, but he was a selfless, loyal, brave, kind leader who also happened to be an arrogant arse. He loved more fiercely than anyone I’ve ever known. He was a good fighter, a better leader, and an even better man.

“Despite his skill at arms, most of Arthur’s triumphs over magical monsters should have been attributed to me. Magic was banned in Camelot at the time, so I had to sneak around and convince Arthur that he had been the one who killed whatever beast we had fought.”

Tab shook her head in disbelief. “Magic was banned in Camelot? I thought you were Arthur’s Court Sorcerer!”

“No, Arthur didn’t find out that I had magic until a short time before his death. His father had instilled his distrust of magic in Arthur, and even though he was my best friend and my destiny, I couldn’t get up the courage to tell him. I’ll regret that decision forever. I did become Court Sorcerer to Queen Guinevere, though.”

She didn’t want to ask this, but her curiosity demanded it. “What happened when he died?”

“The stories get that part right, normally,” he began, eyes misty. “Mordred. Lake Avalon. What they all forget to acknowledge is the prophecy.

“Arthur is destined to rule all of Albion as the Once and Future King. Someday he will rise again, when Albion’s need is greatest. And when he does, I’ll be waiting here.”

Understanding dawned in her. “That’s why you can’t leave; you’re afraid that you’ll miss him.”

“I watched Camelot fall, all of my remaining friends die. The world I once knew is gone. Arthur is all I have now.” The grief about him was palpable as he looked into the distance, towards a world obscured by the mists of time. With his grey robes and white hair, he looked like a weathered statue from an age long past.

Lake Albion shone in the sun, a perfectly calm mirror. 

Merlin suddenly chuckled beside her, breaking the silence that had fallen. “Do you want to know the funniest inaccuracy in those stories?”

“What?”

“I didn’t look like that when he was alive. This is the form I must take while I wait for him, until time is reversed. The only painting I’ve ever sat for was made when I was Court Sorcerer in Gwen’s court, so there’s no record of what I truly looked like when I served Arthur.”

“Wait, you looked younger when you served him?”

“Try sixty years, give or take.”

“You’re kidding! I’d always thought you’d be at least greying!”

“Me? Greying?” The old man ran a hand down his white beard. “Never!”

They eventually abandoned that topic and spent the rest of Tab’s visit discussing medicinal herbs, of which Merlin had, well, centuries of knowledge. They bade each other reluctant goodbyes at dusk, and he gave her a small ball of floating fire to find her way home. 

As she walked home, Tab decided that the romantics that said that Merlin was tethered to the Earth by a lost love weren’t that far off. 

(The ones who suggested that he was an old god weren’t too wrong either, if she was honest.)


End file.
